Times What They Are

by D. L. Barnhart

  Ray lifted the bike and roared the half block to Cheryl. She jumped on and held him tight. A police car approached on the street to his left. Ray gunned the bike and raced over the Henley Street bridge.

  * * *

  “They were just teenage punks.” Ray was sitting with Jason and Cheryl in the small den at the house.

  “Downtown, middle of the day robbing people,” Jason replied. “Not a good sign.”

  “They weren’t very good,” Cheryl commented. “Wouldn’t last the afternoon in New York.”

  “Guess in your haste to protect the princess, you were supposed to have left the keys in the bike,” Jason said.

  “Not what I’m going to do with the only transportation we have.”

  “Like she said. They weren’t very good. Still, lucky they didn’t have a gun.”

  Ray nodded.

  “Think you might want to go back and find them. Set them on the straight and narrow?”

  “I considered shooting ’em as it happened. They got by on their age.”

  “They’ll only get better. Next time, they’ll likely kill somebody.”

  Ray knew Jason was right. He seen what kids that age did in Afghanistan and Iraq.

  “Okay, let’s read them their rights.”

  Ray touched Cheryl’s hand. “Be back in a couple hours.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  Ray smiled. “Always am.” Then he and Jason walked out the door.

  * * *

  Dickie Jamison, the big man from the porch, drove the crew cab Ford into Knoxville. They found two of the boys a couple blocks from the bank, loitering across the street from the Hilton. Dickie drove around the corner and parked.

  “They’ve seen you, so I guess it’s us,” Jason said. He and Dickie climbed out. Ray slid behind the wheel.

  “Two minutes and pick us up.”

  Ray slid behind the wheel and let the engine idle. He let a minute and a half tick off, then turned the corner and stopped in front of Jason and Dickie. Jason threw the boys in back and climbed in with them.

  Jason poked his gun in the tall one’s eye. “You want to tell us where the other two are at?”

  “Around back.” No hesitation.

  Ray drove the block, came up on two boys leaning against the wall of a parking garage. He stopped the truck in the Hilton’s driveway and jumped out, the engine still running. The boys ran opposite directions. Ray tackled one. Dickie chased the other into the garage. Ray stomped his captive’s leg at the knee and felt it give. He hauled the kid up, punched him once, bouncing him off the wall. Ray left him curled on the ground and went after Dickie.

  Ray entered the garage and met Dickie trotting down the ramp.

  “Let’s go, man,” Dickie said.

  They both glanced at the boy against the wall, crying and holding his leg while blood dribbled from his nose.

  “Don’t look like he’ll be stealing nothin’ for a while,” Dickie said.

  Ray nodded, and they climbed into the truck.

  “You kill him?” Jason asked.

  “Nah. Broke him up a little. Couldn’t steal a chicken from his granny right now.”

  Jason directed Ray to a deserted quarry off Riverside drive. They stood the boys atop a steep bank that fell to a pond. Dickie kept lookout. Ray and Jason drew their guns and faced the boys. They wet their pants.

  Ray stared at the boys and considered his next step. The first two had stolen the Honda, bad enough. These boys had attacked him and Cheryl on the street, wanted to steal everything they had. It was the same as leaving them to die. The boys probably didn’t see it that way, but it was. And they needed to know it.

  “Well, have you begun to see the error of your ways?” Jason asked.

  The taller boy nodded. The other one stared at the ground.

  “So be it.”

  Jason shot the tall boy through the knee. He dropped backward over the edge and rolled a hundred feet to the water. Ray glared at the boy who’d hit him with the blackjack. He shot the boy’s foot, then his upper arm. The boy tumbled over the cliff and slid down to join his friend.

  The men climbed into the truck, Dickie again behind the wheel. Ray doubted either of the boys had what it took to climb out of the pit. They had a chance, if they were tough enough. What happened was up to them.

  “Sorry way for those boys to end up,” Jason said. “Truth is, any one of us would steal if it meant surviving.”

  “It’s a matter of how and who, I guess,” Ray said. “Knocking down women is a pretty low way to go at it. Think I’d turn myself in at a federal camp before I sunk that far.”

  “Might come a day you’ll eat those words,” Jason said.

  “If it does, I don’t deserve any better than them.”

  * * *

  The men stepped from the truck and walked to the porch where Cheryl sat with Kim and Taylor—Jason’s wife and Dickie’s girlfriend.

  Cheryl stood. “Did you find them?”

  Jason nodded. “We gave ’em a lesson on the consequences of their chosen way of life. What y’all been up to?”

  “Workin’ while you’re off playin’,” Kim said. “The Army’s taken over twelve states. Martial law, they’re calling it. They’re takin’ folk’s food and gonna dole it out their way.”

  “Not here?”

  “Georgia and Virginia. They’ll get us next. We’ve been buying whatever we could lay hands on.”

  Jason glanced toward the drive. “Wayne out?”

  “With Felicia, over to Pigeon Forge and Sevierville. We had Maryville and Alcoa.”

  “We got any money left?”

  Kim laughed. “Not till your next check which we know ain’t coming.”

  “Let’s see what you got.”

  The house had already been well stocked. Half the cellar was taken up with food and water. More was locked up in strong rooms in the barn. Gasoline and propane, too. And three generators. Part of why Ray and Cheryl slept in the barn was guard duty. Locks were only so effective. Shotguns were better than alarms.

  The group walked to the barn where the women had unloaded hundreds of pounds of basics.

  Jason eyed the pile. “You did good.”

  “Cheryl paid the biggest part of it,” Kim said.

  “Then I’m glad we’ve made Knoxville a safer place for her.”

  Chapter 25

  Ray lay awake as dawn approached, Cheryl snuggled in beside him. Their space in the barn had once been a storage room of some kind. They’d hung sheetrock, painted, hauled in a couch and a bed, and put down area rugs over the concrete floor. They had an electric heater when they needed it and a working toilet in an adjacent room, but no shower, yet.

  It was cozy. Far better than the tent and much warmer. Better than many places Ray had quartered in the Army. Cheryl seemed to accept it well. A giant comedown, but she didn’t complain, at least not to him. She’d adjusted well to the new reality.

  But things were getting worse. Much worse. For the past month, they’d gone to Knoxville in a truck. Dickie drove and Ray escorted Cheryl. There had been no further problems on the street. The bank though, had reduced hours and withdrawal limits several times. The last time they were in, the bank was open only Friday afternoon, and the cash limit was two hundred dollars.

  That wasn’t a big deal, better for them than the one hundred dollar daily limit that preceded it. And after they had fixed up their room, there was little to buy. Most stores had closed. Food was strictly limited, and he and Cheryl didn’t have the necessary card. Kim still bought a few things, mostly with what they gave her.

  Cheryl rolled over and kissed him. Life really was good.

  “Stopped raining,” she said. “You and Dickie going out?”

  “Supposed to.” He slung his arm around her. She nestled her head on his chest. “Don’t really much feel like it.”

  She sighed. “You better get your lazy bones out of bed befor
e he starts banging on the door.”

  “Maybe it’ll start raining, again.”

  “You haven’t got that kind of luck.”

  And he didn’t. Several loud blows sounded on the barn door. “Give me a minute, Ray yelled. He rolled out of bed and got dressed, then slid the door open to Dickie, jeans, flannel shirt, ball cap, and scoped rifle.

  “Newlyweds,” Dickie snorted. “Time to move out.”

  Ray grabbed a rifle from inside the bedroom doorway and stepped to the Gator XUV. It was a two seat model with a mini pickup bed. Ray filled the fuel tank from a jug. Dickie checked the oil. Done with maintenance, they stowed the rifles and a gas can.

  Dickie put his hand on the key, then let go as Cheryl crossed the barn in a loose T-shirt, her uncombed hair spilling over her shoulders. She carried a nylon bag that she handed to Ray.

  “Mornin’ ma’am,” Dickie said.

  She smiled at him. “Good luck.” Then she nodded toward Ray. “And don’t forget to bring this one back.”

  Dickie laughed. “Yess’m.” He started the vehicle and drove out of the barn. Ray jumped out and closed the door.

  * * *

  They rode half an hour and crossed the National Park boundary, following narrow dirt trails and avoiding the blacktop—and the other hunters stalking the tens of thousands of animals that roamed the huge park. Hunting seasons had no meaning. The focus was on food for the table.

  Park rangers drove the roads but made little effort to confront poachers who were both better armed and more numerous. Army patrols were the real danger, though they were infrequent in the park. Mostly, it was a big space with few people.

  Dickie headed for a small valley field they liked and parked on a ridge that overlooked it. They were late for breakfast and the deer had moved on. The men hiked a couple hundred yards and split up. It was three hours before Ray saw a buck and shot it.

  They field dressed the deer, hauled it home on a tarp in the back of the Gator, and hung it outside the barn. It was late afternoon when they finished and Kim and Taylor were already starting a stew for dinner. It smelled great with the homemade bread in the oven.

  Chapter 26

  Two men climbed Karla’s gate. She saw no vehicle, they just appeared in the road, maybe dropped, maybe on foot. She watched them approach the house and knock through the cast iron bars of the security door in front. Then they tried the garage door, bars on it, now, too. They found the same on the back door. They took in the bars on the windows and moved off toward the outbuildings.

  Karla grabbed the AR-15 and slipped out through the garage. The men were tugging at the sliding door on the barn where she kept equipment. She fired a shot into the dirt a few feet from where they stood.

  “Get off my land or you’ll be dead men!” She fired another shot that nicked a boot. “Git!” she screamed, aiming the rifle directly at the men.

  They ran and she followed them until they were over the gate. She heard a shotgun from up the road, then a pickup raced toward her. She backed toward the house. The truck slowed, the men jumped in, and it took off. Karla ran into the house and called the neighbor. He was okay. He had done the same as her.

  It was the second time men had probed her defenses in ten days. The first pair had checked her doors and moved on. This bunch had seemed more inquisitive—at least toward the barns which were less secure than the house. They were locked, too, but Karla wasn’t about to stand by and watch the men try to break in. Letting them know she’d shoot had to have some deterrent effect. Though they now knew she was a woman and possibly alone. She called the sheriff’s office and reported the attempted break-in.

  After she settled down, she returned to cold calling commercial realtors. She had picked up the names of over one hundred twenty attendees of the Boulder conference, a few of whom had spoken with Roger. She was calling only men first. She suspected if Roger had a connection that would draw him to Colorado it would turn out to be a woman. Karla wanted to find her, if possible, without tipping her off.

  Karla spoke with ten men over the next three hours. Two had been at the convention, and they gave her six more names. She checked her list and frowned. Three were duplicates. What she had also learned from the many conversations was the commercial real estate market was dead. Most of the people she talked to no longer went into their offices. They answered the few calls that came in but they had no real prospects on the horizon.

  She checked the news again. It had become a habit, possibly an addiction:

  The new congress had begun meeting at temporary quarters in the George Washington National Forest on the western edge of Virginia. Today, there was bickering over credentials. Populations had drastically changed since the last census. California and New York were no longer the most populous states. Some states were practically deserted. States that were untouched were loath to yield power to states that claimed more legislators than citizens—despite what the constitution said.

  In the world, Russia had occupied large parts of rural western China that had remained unscathed in the nuclear exchanges with India and the US. The BBC reported that China’s military might had been largely destroyed in those blasts as had India’s. The US, by comparison, had lost little of its military capability but suffered significant commercial damage with the loss of San Francisco and Silicon Valley as well as Houston, Atlanta, and New York, again.

  Karla smirked at the British understatement. The east and west coasts were in shambles. The country could still produce food and farm equipment in the mid-west. But who had money to buy it? And who would produce, if the government seized farm land as some eastern politicians threatened.

  Karla opened a can of Spaghetti-Os she’d bought for Jessie. She had never figured on Roger taking her. Or that it would be so hard to get her back.

  Chapter 27

  Dolores Hart read the April 1 summary.

  From Homeland Security: 12,152,000 dead from all causes. 5,870,000 in refugee camps. Estimated 22,000,000 sheltering elsewhere. Much of the northeast uninhabitable: Reactors in Maine, Vermont, and Connecticut leaking radiation. Power transmission infrastructure severely damaged. Water pipes ruptured in seventy percent of New England housing stock. Cellars flooded. Municipal storage tanks drained. Food supplies remain especially tight in the east and urban west.

  From Defense: Nuclear stocks half depleted. Chemical and biological weapons at 80%. North Korea, Iran, Pakistan, and China no longer capable of nuclear aggression. Conventional attacks still possible. All departments operational and deployed. More troops and supplies needed to maintain refugee camps.

  From State Department: Australia, Canada, and The European Union continue sending food and medical supplies. Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom have offered military support.

  From Agriculture: Funding for SNAP cut 90%—many vendors no longer accepting the cards. Tight credit hindering spring planting. Crop forecasts: Corn down 35%, soy beans 50%, wheat 40%, rice 50% . . . . Dairy down 30%. Beef cattle 35%. Hogs 40% . . . .

  From Treasury: Tax receipts down 65% from prior year. Tax refunds delayed. Payments and redemptions on debt halted. No market for new bonds. Disbursements for non-essential programs converted to US Notes (IOUs). Medicare payments delayed 180 days. Social Security payouts set at 35%. Tax enforcement initiate ineffective. New currency being printed.

  From Justice: Federal courts have been suspended in areas under martial law including all or parts of districts 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, and 11.

  Dolores stopped reading and closed her eyes. She would address the nation again in three hours and had no good news. She wished someone else were presiding at what was surely the low point of the nation’s existence.

  Chapter 28

  “Mommy!” It was Jessie’s voice on the landline, the number she had been made to memorize since she was five.

  “Where are you? I’m so glad you called.”

  “In the trees.”

  “Do you know what�
��s nearby, what city?”

  “We’re in Kansas. We drove all night yesterday.”

  “Who is with you?”

  “Daddy and Aunt Ellen. She’s not really my aunt but that’s what daddy says to call her.”

  “You’re so brave to call. I’ve been trying to find you. I miss you so much.”

  “I want to go home.”

  Karla heard voices in the background.

  “Bye, Mommy.”

  “Jessie!” The connection was gone.

  Karla checked the caller ID, then did a reverse lookup. The number belonged to a cell phone from Overland Park Kansas. The owner was Otteon Realty. She called the phone company. After much pleading, she learned the call had connected through a tower in Joplin Missouri.

  Everything said they were on the move. They had driven all night, Jessie said. From Overland Park? To where? Karla stared at weeks of work on the Boulder connection. A waste of time, now.

  She looked up the number for Otteon Realty, but held off making the call. Otteon would be a small company. One where everyone knew each other, were maybe related. Certainly one where word would be spread about an inquiring call from Cedar Rapids concerning one of the agents.

  Karla printed a map and the names she found for a couple of the agents whose listed numbers did not match the incoming call. She was sure there were more agents. Just as sure she’d get more out of a visit than a phone call. Tomorrow, she’d go.

  * * *

  Karla gassed up the truck and stowed eighteen extra gallons in the covered bed. She’d not had real trouble buying gas. But some places limited quantities. The smartest thing was to carry extra and stop often to top the tank. She packed lunch, just in case, tucked a nine millimeter in her belt and a .308 Savage behind the seat.